


Patrol

by MarkJira



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkJira/pseuds/MarkJira





	Patrol

You know, when I enlisted in the Imperial stormtrooper corps and specified that I had an aptitude for speeder bikes, I thought I'd be deployed as a biker scout on a jungle planet like Batuu or Felucia, not a glorified cop in the slums of Corellia.

Corellia sucks.

There's nothing here even to police except for a family of Grindalids who fancy themselves a gang. Mostly they keep to themselves, but when they don't they're a real pain in the ass. The human scrumrats they employ are harmless, just kids, but the mean ones-- and you can always find the mean ones-- make a good target when you're having a bad day.

I mean, it could be worse, I guess. At least I'm on a bike. It's not one of the sleek 74-Z ones that the more heavily-policed worlds get, or even a 614-AvA, but it's mine. Growing up on Kuat, I saw every form of transportation you could possibly imagine under construction. Cruisers, destroyers, walkers of all sizes, it was incredible. To a little kid like me, growing up in the waning years of the Clone Wars, seeing a hovertank roll off the assembly line was the most exciting thing in the whole galaxy. The one thing the drive yards on Kuat never manufactured, though, were speeder bikes. Those were all built on Carida. I never got to see one until I was fourteen, and my grandfather passed on, leaving his old 74-W to my dad in his will. Dear old dad never wanted it, so he gave it to me.

Six years later I started making a living riding a C-PH patrol bike a few kilometers from Coronet spaceport, the only interesting place in this scrapheap of a city. Sometimes, when I manage to get a few days of paid leave, I people-watch at the spaceport. It's actually quite an enjoyable hobby.

But people watching is different from keeping an eye on people. And I'm doing the latter now. It's significantly less fun. Just a bunch of humanoids in neutral-colored cloaks rushing to and from nowhere at all. There's this shifty-looking Ho'Din loitering outside the Muunilist Embassy. Probably waiting to hustle the bankers for money when they come or go. I'll just rev the engine on my C-PH and... Yep, he's off. Scurrying off into an alley.

Time for a shift change, I think? Almost. Once Krema gets here I can go. Krema, damn her, is always late. Just late enough for me to have to deal with--

Uh huh. Scrumrats. Three of 'em. Two of them come at a tourist from either side, young kids begging for money. The third grabs the traveller's bag and runs off into the alley where the Ho'Din just disappeared, followed by their allies.  Time to put this bike to good use.

This beautiful machine can reach speeds of 400 kph, but these kids can't run faster than 10, maybe 15. I could catch them on foot if I wanted to, but the bike is  _fun_. So I hop on and give chase down the alley.

"Hey," I hear myself call reflexively, "stop there!"

I can hear the scrumrats giggling as they run. But that'll soon stop. Slowing the bike to a standstill, I hop off and draw the pistol strapped to my right hip, making sure it's set to stun. I could drop all three of them in an instant. But it occurs to me... I've never really fired one of these before. But now is not the time.

Three squeezes of the trigger later, two of the scrumrats are struck by blue stun bolts and are out cold, and the third has managed to duck behind an external pipe. She's a foot shorter than me, a pale girl with dark hair and wary eyes. She's holding the tourist's bag. I adjust my grip on my pistol and take a wide turn around the pipe, and the scrumrat makes a run for a round door with a six-spoked handle on the far side of the alley. The girl swings  open the door without twisting the handle, and calls out a name as she enters. Han, maybe? Doesn't matter. If I go in I'm at the mercy of that pathetic Grindalid gang, and evidently they can be somewhat temperamental. She can go.

The tourist whose bag it was catches up to me, though, and of course he's stupid enough to be completely oblivious as to what's going on.

I shake my head at him. "The last of them escaped into the tunnels with your bag sir, I'm sorry."

"Then FOLLOW HER," he bellows.

"I'm afraid the tunnels are under the jurisdiction of the White Worms, sir," I say, trying to sound like I give a damn, "going in after her would be ill-advised."

"Not doing as I say, would be ill-advised, trooper!"

And then the man does two of the dumbest thing he could possibly do. He makes for the door, on his own, completely unarmed. Strike one. Then he turns back toward me and makes a grab for my pistol. Strike two. But he's a hyperspace-lagged tourist and I'm a trained member of the greatest military force the galaxy has ever known, so I step out of his reach before he can reach the blaster.

I shake my head in an exaggerated fashion, so he can  _tell_ I'm doing it, even under the helmet. And that's when I turn the blaster on him, because he just attacked an Imperial trooper.

"I could shoot you for that, sir," I say, "but I won't. Unless you do something monumentally stupid like that again."

He takes a moment. I don't think he's sure if I was talking about the reach for my pistol or the attempt to go in after the thief. He decides it's the former. He chose wrong. His hand takes another swipe at my pistol, and he receives a knee to the stomach. The pathetic fool doubles over, coughing and sputtering.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are full of fear. It almost looks like he might cry. Then it occurs to me. This isn't some rabble-rouser or petty thief like I'm used to dealing with. In front of me stands a man who eagerly anticipated and prepared for a vacation to this planet, saved for it, and now he's in a back alley, with no possessions, being beaten up on by a stranger he trusted to protect him.

What have I done?

"Oh, karabast. I-- Sir, I'm sorry," I manage to stammer, "let me help you, sir."

"What?"

"This isn't your fault, sir."

I jog back to my speeder and clock out, knowing full well that if Krema hasn't arrived at her post yet there'll be hell to pay for both of us. But this stranger has been so wronged in such a short amount of time that it absolutely doesn't matter.

"Do you have a place to stay?" I ask him.

"Thank the Force, I do. The... Bluevev Suites?"

Wow, this guy really is here for a vacation. The Bluevev Suites are about the nicest destinations this side of the Nomad Mountains.

"You'll enjoy that, I think. Would you like transportation there, sir?"

"I-- Yes, I would, thank you." The look on the tourist's face is like nothing I have ever seen before in my life, and I'll be shocked if I ever see anything like it again.

So I comm in for an escort craft to pick up the gentleman and deliver him safely to the Suites. He thanks me as he boards the airspeeder, and eyes me with confusion.

What's gonna happen to him?


End file.
